


Unbroken Bonds

by Siver



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 15:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: Coming to terms with having a future and with a friend who never gave up isn’t easy. Not everything can be mended and some holes will never be filled, but in the end they have each other. They always did.A no-reset scenario.





	Unbroken Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



And they lived happily ever after. The End… Not quite. Jowd hadn’t given the future any thought. He had only focused on saving Kamila. Afterward was so far out of his mind that when it did come it felt unreal and only a set series of tasks that had to be done kept him on track.

His own situation had needed to be officially and legally resolved. He had a daughter to reconnect with outside of terror, overwhelming relief and tearful hugs. He had an old student to see and properly thank without the rush and urgency.

And… an old friend to visit.

When Jowd first visited Cabanela in the hospital, he was groggy off painkillers and a low grade fever. Despite his drowsiness his joy and relief at seeing him pierced through painfully. Then as if everything else hadn’t been enough, Jowd found himself somehow on the pointed end of a glazed stare and being asked, no, ordered to stay at his place. What was he thinking, trying to stay at a motel when there was a place always open for him and Kamila both?

Jowd hadn’t figured on ever losing a fight with a man bordering on unconscious, but why not? For better or worse, he hadn’t won anything against him in a long time after all. He couldn’t say it was even a bad loss at the sight of Cabanela’s satisfied smile as he slipped back into sleep.

So, Jowd had a talk with Kamila—did she want to stay with Lynne for now or come with him—and she chose to come, and they settled into Cabanela’s small flat. Jowd tried not to freeze on the doorstep. Five years since he’d last been here. The place hadn’t changed much. If anything stood out it was the sparse kitchen and a tidiness that went beyond his normal, creating a faint unlived-in feeling.

The man clearly hadn’t been home much and Jowd felt caught between delving into those implications and avoiding more evidence of what really happened these past five years.

Kamila stopped in front of Cabanela’s shelf and stared at the picture there. A quick glance was all Jowd needed before he averted his gaze. He knew that happy photo from so long ago. Hers was a presence he couldn’t bring himself to see yet. Theirs was a connection he couldn’t yet face. Cabanela had kept it up all this time?

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but Kamila’s presence spurred him on. Despite a home with Lynne she very clearly wanted to stay by him, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a great relief to see her anytime he entered a room. This was a place he knew. A safe place. He doubted she remembered it very well—perhaps if Cabanela hadn’t spent quite so much time with them instead, things might have been different—but it was a place that ached in its familiarity for Jowd, and he was drawn in despite himself. It wouldn’t have to be for long. With any luck they’d be out of Cabanela’s hair before he returned anyway.

Finding a new place turned out to be a task more difficult than expected. Perhaps it was having the familiarity of Cabanela’s home in a life that otherwise felt too strange, while lacking what had been home, but there always seemed to be something wrong with each option he found.

Or maybe they simply weren’t ready to leave yet and so one day he took Kamila to their old house. They stopped in front of the door. Kamila’s hand slipped into his and he felt her shiver while his feet rooted to the ground. They’d last passed through that door together when he hurriedly guided Kamila away from the nightmare within. See her to safety before… taking care of everything else. No, they couldn’t return and in silent agreement they turned away. Some things couldn’t be taken back and some holes couldn’t be filled.

In time, too soon in Jowd’s opinion—what deals and demands had Cabanela made—Cabanela was discharged and now three occupied his small flat. Jowd’s urgency to find a place increased even while a part of him wanted to linger. Keep an eye on Cabanela and be ready to assist and prevent; crutches only allowed for so much, but the man was too stubborn for his own good. He owed him that much. That was all.

It was Cabanela who poked his nose into everything and insisted on helping wherever he was able as much as his injuries and lessened energy (a point he couldn’t disprove no matter how hard he tried while betrayed by random naps on the couch) would allow. If Jowd’s exasperation grew, it was also coloured with a fondness he couldn’t quite face.

And if there were things that were wrong, nightmares in the night, they were left alone. If Jowd woke late, and—after reorienting himself; this wasn’t his cell, he knew this room and this couch and there was Kamila in a nest of sleeping bag and several pillows—if he spotted Cabanela’s form in the kitchen, he kept quiet and nothing was said about it the next morning over a cheerful breakfast.

If Jowd caught the winces and scowls when Cabanela overstepped his limits—an overly frequent occurrence—he gave Cabanela the benefit of pretending not to notice while his worry and guilt grew.

If none of them could sleep and the three gathered on the couch, and a spot was left empty, no one said a word about it. Cabanela brightly spoke of everything and anything that wasn’t especially important, until Kamila fell asleep on Jowd. One of them would get some restful hours.

If Jowd couldn’t sleep one night, and when passing by Cabanela’s room, saw him sitting bent over in the dark, he went to him. How much pain came from his body and how much from his memories? Jowd’s tongue felt leaden and immovable. He sat beside him and held him while shying away from memories of the junkyard (how could he ever really repay him?). Cabanela was tense at first, but before Jowd could pull away—maybe this was a bad idea—his tension drained into a tired sprawl and he turned his head to rest against Jowd’s chest with a murmured “You’re heeere” before going quiet. For better or worse he was here now and he remained until the deep hours of the night when Cabanela finally fell into an uneasy sleep in his arms and he eased him back down into his pillows. In the morning it was as if the bout had never happened.

If, when Jowd found a place he and Kamila both agreed they could be happy in, Cabanela’s joy was tinged with disappointment, well Jowd was surely wrong in his reading of him. Cabanela would be happy to have his privacy back. Jowd had been a weight in his life for far too long.

One battle was finally won in preventing Cabanela from trying to help with their move—you’re on crutches man, sit down—and they were quickly moved in. There wasn’t a lot to move beyond Kamila’s belongings. A fresh start. Jowd would take Kamila shopping and they’d slowly fill out their place together. Begin a new chapter.

Jowd had wanted to let Cabanela have his privacy back, yet he found himself visiting as regular as clockwork. Five years was more than enough time to get used to solitude—solitude that grew welcome in its ease. And no doubt Cabanela had been angry and driven, and oh so very busy—too busy to really miss him and why should he? Jowd drove him to it. Five years… Missed days wouldn’t _really_ matter, would they? But, check-ins—he had to make sure Cabanela didn’t need anything or hadn’t hurt himself doing something reckless. That was all.

One such visit found the pair standing in Cabanela’s kitchen, waiting for the coffeepot to finish. Jowd wondered if it would stop feeling so strange to see him on crutches before they were no longer needed, even as Cabanela grew remarkably adept with them. Jowd half-expected him to pull off some dance move any day now.

No, even Cabanela had to bow down to some limitations. Limitations that should never have been placed on him. Jowd lost track of how many times his thoughts wandered back to the junkyard office. The truth had been contained within the pocket watch—Cabanela’s final word on the matter. That same watch even now resided in his pocket—he could never bring himself to leave it out. And, the truth was laid bare in Cabanela’s battered and bloodied form cast over the chair. He’d been as bright and fierce as ever. Maybe more so were it possible, Jowd had thought when his gaze was inexorably drawn to him just as he’d felt Cabanela’s attention fixed on him since he entered. The sight was unbearable to take in for its meanings, yet impossible to look away from.

It was… it was too much. Cabanela was too much. He should never have had to lose five years to him. He should never have nearly died for him. He should never have gone through all of this.

The question slipped before he could stop himself. “Why?”

Cabanela silently surveyed him. Jowd tried to think of any reason he might ask the question before Cabanela cottoned on to what he really meant. No such luck.

“What eeelse did you expect, baby?” Cabanela asked with an ease that stung.

What had he expected? He shut Cabanela out as completely as he was able. Did he think that would be enough? Maybe he had. He grew skilled at convincing himself in that cell. Cabanela moved on. The Inspector had his own priorities and his own life. Simple...

“Five years,” Jowd said, caught between a statement and a question.

“Of couuurse.”

Jowd frowned. Five years of his life passed off with nonchalance. However, hurt went more than skin deep. The proof of that lay in those long nights and the tired lines still engraved in Cabanela’s face.

Yet, it would be so simple to leave it here; let Cabanela have his way again.

It wasn’t _right._ There was still one secret Cabanela didn’t know, didn’t have to know…

“The evidence,” Jowd said, “that Lynne went to find. It was the gun.”

This would be easier if Cabanela showed anything but a steady interest—anger, surprise, _something._ Had he already known of the missing gun? Likely, but he wouldn’t know everything.

“I sent it to her after it happened. I asked her to give it to you when it was all over. She didn’t know what it was then.” He paused, but Cabanela remained silent. He plunged forward as if probing a bad tooth, trying to find the pain. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I lied to you again.” His mouth quirked. “I had an answer for you after all. In the end.”

It was his final say. This is what I wanted. Be angry. Hate me, forget me. All wrapped up in a tidy little box. Case closed.

Cabanela abruptly turned away and Jowd, watching closely, spotted his tightening grip on the crutches. He felt a small spike of bitter hope at the edge in Cabanela’s words.

“So you lied to her and dragged her into it from the beginning,” Cabanela said. “You had to be certain, didn’t you? Knowing that, you have to ask me why?”

“A reasonable question for everything that’s happened.” Jowd chuckled. “And there I thought you were the more sensible man in the end despite appearances!”

Cabanela spun back on his heel, too quickly, and overbalanced. One crutch fell with a loud clatter. Jowd covered the distance between them in a single step and caught him as the other crutch hit the floor.

Cabanela was rigid in his arms. All traces of his usual unfaltering smile were gone. “It’s over. I’m not your punishment, Jowd.”

Punishment? Maybe not, but he had every right to join the line. To turn away and stay that way. To be angry, to lash out. To… unleash.

Jaw set, tight barely restrained breaths—Cabanela was past cracking. It was clear now; Jowd hadn’t been the only one hiding. What more could he say? What could he really do?

Then it hit him. In the end what had words ever been to them in the face of action? He pulled Cabanela closer, carefully wrapped his arms around him in a close embrace, and brought his head down to his shoulder.

If Cabanela grew any tenser he’d snap in half. His voice came thick and muffled against Jowd’s shirt—“Idiot”—before he broke into tears.

Jowd smiled. It wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it was something.

He ran a hand down Cabanela’s back as he cried. It was strange, a near unheard of occurrence. The man shaking in his arms was a stark contrast to the man standing tall with a gun pointed at him while flippant words danced between them over deeper meanings. Strange but needed. The least he could do now was be his shield.

He tightened his hug when another isolated word slipped out between sobs—“Alma.” Of course. He wasn’t the only one keenly feeling her absence.

Prison’s isolation had been a blessing and a curse. The distance had helped in a way, but he was left alone with his thoughts. He surrounded himself in lies. Now he lived the truth and the hole in his life gaped wide.

And what of Cabanela? Jowd looked down at him and smoothed a hand over his hair. He knew him (even when he convinced himself he didn’t anymore). He knew how single-minded he could be and that final night only confirmed it—a cell of his own making. He had a feeling this was a long time coming; they’d both done too well at trapping themselves.

He turned his thoughts away to the only task that mattered now, comfort. A hand at Cabanela’s back and small rocking motions. He was his pillar this time.

In time Cabanela took a shuddering breath and slowed with a cough and a wince. Was this regaining control or did his body simply have no more to give? He turned his head away with a sniff while his hands remained clenched around Jowd’s shirt.

Jowd caught his chin and gently turned his face to look at him. Narrowed reddened eyes met his and wandered over his face, seeming to take in every detail as if to remind himself that he was here. Jowd brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. He’d never seen Cabanela look so drained.

“Do you really not know?” Cabanela asked, his voice husky.

Jowd sighed deeply. The answer had stared him in the face repeatedly if he’d only been willing to see it.

“I know.”

Cabanela leaned heavily against him. There was no point standing here when there was a far more comfortable place just a few feet away. Jowd supported him to the sofa where they sunk into it. He offered Cabanela his shoulder—an invitation he readily took—and wrapped his arm around him.

Jowd’s gaze fell on the picture on Cabanela’s shelf. Himself, Cabanela and… Alma. He’d avoided looking at it as much as he could. Now he stared at her. He felt he could never get her down on the canvas properly and his hand went ever to the black paint. There she was, smiling and vibrant, and his chest ached.

“Tomorrow,” Cabanela said.

“Hmm?”

“I promised her I wouldn’t come alone the next time. Don’t maaake me a liar, baby.”

He hadn’t been putting it off, not exactly. It was only that there’d been too many other things to attend to. That was all. That was all…

Jowd nodded, his eyes still fixed on the picture. “Tomorrow,” he agreed in a low voice.

They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts, Jowd supposed, or possibly too spent to say much now. It was only when the silence seemed to stretch too long and Cabanela was too still that Jowd looked down. He’d fallen asleep against him.

He lingered a few minutes more to make sure he was well and truly asleep. Grief and recovery were exhausting things. Let him rest at last.

Jowd then gently gathered him into his arms, careful to avoid hurting him. He hardly stirred as Jowd carried him to his room. It was only when he tucked him into bed that Cabanela’s eyes cracked half open, still more asleep than awake. With hardly a thought Jowd bent and kissed his forehead.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

Cabanela’s eyes fell shut again with a soft sigh. Jowd nodded to himself before quietly leaving. This was a step forward.

 

The next morning they stood together at Alma’s grave. With no small amount of effort Jowd managed to loosen his tightening grip around the colourful bouquet of flowers he held before he crushed them.

“Lynne would bring me to see her,” Kamila said. A chill breeze blew around them in an otherwise sunny day and she stood closer to Jowd. “I always chose her flowers. Mom really liked flowers, right?”

“She loved them,” Jowd said.

A fact both he and Cabanela took advantage of, though it was one area Jowd knew Cabanela held the advantage. Some combination was granted for every occasion and a fair few Jowd was certain Cabanela made up. He remembered her garden, no doubt quickly withered away to nothing. He swallowed.

“Good morning, Alma,” he said quietly as he knelt in front of the grave and set down the bouquet.

“I hope she likes these ones,” Kamila said.

“She wiiill,” Cabanela replied.

Jowd looked at the gravestone, tracing the letters with his eyes. His gaze locked to the dates and he reached out to brush a hand over the stone.

“It’s been a long time. I’m sorry. I’m here now and I won’t be going anywhere.”

He remained as the memories washed over him, clearer than any painting he’d attempted. The sparkle in her eyes, the warmth of her smile, the care in her voice and a laugh that rang bright and joyfully.

He felt Kamila hover close and Cabanela was a steady presence just behind until he dragged himself back to his feet with a heavy sigh.

“See mom?” Kamila said. “He did come back just like Lynne said and… and I knew it too.”

Jowd glanced at Cabanela. He stared at Kamila with an odd expression—something that seemed caught between sadness and pride. Before he could comment and, what could he say, Cabanela’s expression slid into a more genuine smile as he turned his attention back to Alma’s stone.

“We won, but I’ll just beeet you knew it.” His voice softened. “It’s finally over. I’ll look after them baby. Don’t you worry.”

There was no need for that, but there was no arguing that tone either—a lightness wrapped around a core of steel.

Jowd laid a hand on Kamila’s shoulder and she leaned against him. “I have a lot to catch up on,” he said with another look down at Kamila’s head.

Cabanela let a crutch fall to sling an arm around Jowd’s shoulders.

“We’ve got aaall the time in the world, my old friend.”

Jowd hadn’t given time much thought before. It lost meaning as the days in prison blended together until a deadline approached, cutting off any future for him. Now, as Jowd stood by his precious daughter and dearest of friends, he felt the breeze had grown warmer and he knew Cabanela was right. They did have time. It was time to step into a new and brighter future.

**Author's Note:**

> You mentioned a no-reset scenario and I was very taken with it and the opportunity to put these two on equal footing in knowledge, and allow for a much needed release.  
> They both know their victories and their losses, but they still have each other (and Lynne and Kamila of course!). While the loss of Alma makes for a far more bittersweet end than canon, I hope their bonds and a brighter future eases things along.


End file.
